


Play it Again, Sam

by girlinstory



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, I don't know what I'm doing with this fic or my life, Not Infinity-War Compliant, Post CAWS, The Avengers Participate in an Entirely Mission Critical Rap Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2019-06-30 06:38:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15746316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlinstory/pseuds/girlinstory
Summary: A few minutes later, they watched Barnes murder strut onstage, and okay, at least that fit in. His eyes were less racoon and more Nicki Minaj. Barnes clipped the microphone to his shirt. It took him a few minutes, because he was used to wearing earwigs without mics, and because his hand was shaking. He must have gotten someone else to do his eyeliner.





	1. Chapter 1

“I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news,” said Natasha. “Which do you want first?”

“The bad news,” said Steve.

“Of course you do. Sorry, it’s gotta’ be the good news first.”

“Then why did you-”

“Em is scheduled to participate in the Rap Battle, but Em is short for Emil, not Emilie. Now, I have a lot in my repertoire, but not that- at least not without some serious contouring, and all I brought is eyeliner. So. Can any of you boys sing?”

“You’ve heard us do karaoke,” said Tony. “You know we can’t.”

Sam, who refused to do karaoke on principal, could sing a little. He didn’t want to admit that. He liked nice jazz clubs, Smalls and the Birdland. He didn’t have anything against rap, but it wasn’t his cup of- well, all they seemed to have were plastic cups of beer. The audience was already either drunk enough to spill on the seats or drunk enough to piss on them. He couldn’t tell the difference from the smell.

They had to go through a metal detector, like at the airport, and there were a lot of signs that said “No Moshing.” Sam didn’t even know people moshed at rap battles.

“Um…” said Steve.

“Steve, there’s a reason they gave you a _speaking_ part in Star Spangled Man.”

Steve blushed but pushed on. “No, it’s just…”

Tony followed his gaze. “What, Barnes? He doesn’t _speak._ ”

“It was one of his jobs before the war. Singin’ in a nightclub for Joe “the Wop” Catalano on Broadway and Fitty-Thoid street. Later they made it the Boidland Theater. Ella Fitzgerald sang there.”

They all took a moment to appreciate how Steve’s accent came out whenever he talked about the Good Ol’ Depression, before Tony said, “Okay, but he won’t know anything from this century, and also: He doesn’t speak.”

“They wouldn’t have taken away his singing,” said Natasha, and Sam felt himself blanch, because he hadn’t realized that was a thing they could _do_. He tried to get his shit together, because he already felt too white for this place.

“Why not?” asked Steve, who was also blanching, and Sam stopped worrying so much about looking white.

Natasha looked amused in that way she had that meant no one else would find whatever it was amusing. “They didn’t just teach us ballet for combat training. Even weapons are designed to be beautiful.”

“A fine point,” said Tony, “but consider this: He _doesn’t speak_.”

Barnes held out his metal hand. Natasha handed him something, and his fingers snikt shut around it before Sam could see what it was. Barnes started pushing his way towards the stage with determination and liberal use of his elbows.

“What was that?” asked Steve.

“The eyeliner,” said Natasha.

Steve’s brow got all furrowed in a way that would never cause wrinkles, the bastard. “Maybe this isn’t such a good-”

“It was your idea,” said Natasha.

“But-”

“And it was his choice.”

That shut Steve up for five whole minutes. Sam timed him.

Eventually, Sam broke the silence by whispering, “Do you think he’s going to do the raccoon eyes or…”

A few minutes later, they watched Barnes murder strut onstage, and okay, at least that fit in. His eyes were less raccoon and more Nicki Minaj. Barnes clipped the microphone to his shirt. It took him a few minutes, because he was used to wearing earwigs without mics, and because his hand was shaking. He must have gotten someone else to do his eyeliner.

The instrumental music started, and Sam started to feel sorry for Barnes, steering wheel incident be damned. He should have admitted he could sing a little, and his mama would never forgive him for letting this poor white boy rap in front of people who were probably drinking _urine_ , and Tony had a point about the _not speaking,_ and-

 

_I gotta' do a nickel,_

_'Cause you wouldn't drop a dime._

_You're the one who wants a cell ,_

_But I'm the one who does the time._

 

_It's just catchy till they catch us._

_Then the bad rap is the thing_

_That we can't get out of our heads,_

_So they send us to sing, sing._

_Rags will beg to shoot our mugs._

_‘Til their rap sheets tag us thugs._

_So you’ll think I’m worth a mill,_

_But I still ain’t worth a buck._

 

_They tell you that we’re free,_

_‘Cause we think our yards are lawns_

_And when we eat our_ _Mystery Meat_

_It’s paired with Perignon,_

 

_Our cells are our life,_

_And our squad’s got ten cars,_

_But if we’re free,_

_Why we always hittin' the bars?_

 

_I’ll die living large,_

_But freestyle ain't free,_

_'Cause they’ll always have_

_A charge for me._

 

And okay, maybe the mic drop was Barnes actually dropping the mic because his hand was shaking so hard, but damnit if Sam didn’t give him a standing ovation, and not just ‘cause his chair was covered in urine.


	2. Chapter 2

After that, Bucky provided an assist for any operation that required singing. There was the Battle of the Bands, which everyone took way too literally.

There was Sweet, the demon that could reveal hidden truths by making people sing about their feelings. That wouldn’t have been too bad, but some people danced so hard that they spontaneously combusted. Also: Feelings.

There was a hostage situation at the newly refurbished CBGB Karaoke Club in Saint Mark’s Place. Sam hadn’t even known they made a karaoke version of Mayhem’s “Chainsaw Gutsfuck,” but he had to admire Bucky’s dedication when he brought out the pig heads.

“Is the music... weird?” asked Steve, like he was trying not to offend anyone, but also trying not to be offended himself.

“You mean because it’s Norwegian death metal or because it’s modern?” asked Wanda.

“Yes.”

“No.” 

Bucky appeared at so many underground shows that he started to develop a whole new reputation. He had the lung capacity to carry the fermatas and an impressive range. His Cher covers were almost as low as the originals. More importantly, “We know he looks good in leather pants,” said Natasha. “Just don’t rip your shirt off on stage. That’s tacky. Unless Brendon Urie does it.”

“Only if someone says the trigger word,” said Bucky.

She sidled up to him in that way she had which was entirely too reminiscent of her call name. “Have you ever thought about doing this professionally?”

Pepper cleared her throat. “May I just point out that Natasha has no experience as an agent? Sergeant Barnes, I have some contacts in the entertainment industry that would love to meet you.”

Nat gave Pepper a friendly swat, which was much friendlier than any of the swats she gave the team. Sam's shoulder still hurt when it rained.

“I have plenty of experience as an agent,” she said.  

Once again, the Avengers found themselves killing time in a green room, waiting for Bucky’s performance. There were a couple of armchairs were grouped around a coffee cable. It would’ve looked like a perfectly normal living room if it weren’t for the scented candles and oil. There were even prayer beads, although they were bigger than any Sam had seen before. Well, everyone had their pre-show rituals. Meditation wasn’t the strangest one he’d ever heard of. That honor went to the Mayhem cover band, who did actual rituals, sometimes involving live goats. At least, they were live when the rituals started. 

“How does he even know modern music?” Tony asked everyone except Bucky, probably because Bucky’s answer was, “You're not the only one who listens to music while you’re working.”

When everybody finished flinching he added, “Maybe I will make a record. I broke a record in half and used it to slit a man's throat once."

"Oh, yeah," said Steve. "I'd forgotten about that. See? Vinyl is better."

“Oh, my god,” said Tony. “Long hair, records… The Winter Soldier is a hipster.”

“Don’t call him that,” said Steve.

“What? They’re not that bad.”

"You're up," said a man with what appeared to be PVC pipes threaded through his ears. He had more piercings than the ozone layer, more chokers than a DV docket, and a T-shirt that said, “Emojis are status symbols.” He was also transgender, as far as Sam could tell. He appeared to be packing. That, or he was just packing. It _was_ New York.

Sam only noticed because those skinny jeans less forgiving than his mother. What went on under someone’s clothes was none of his business, no matter how tight they were.

Bucky took the stage, while the rest of the Avengers stayed in the wings to watch for their suspect. Their only intel was that he had a compulsive aversion to puns, which was rare for a supervillain.

 

_Pianists stand up when things get exciting._

_What is it you think I said?_

_Horny people need some tongue._

_This is how you get ahead._

 

_I've got this wood between my knees,_

_And I know how to make it sing._

_Cello, boys. Come with me._

_Let's practice our fingering._

 

_Please tell me if I’m a tenor,_

_Too. You know I can go deeper,_

_With an oldie in A Minor_

_To convince you I’m a keeper._

 

_I’m sharp, so don’t string me_

_Along or leave me solo._

_You’re all treble, I can see._

_Let’s get to the crescendo._

 

They saw the man covering his ears at the same time. Sam went ahead and initiated interception because Steve was distracted. That had been happening a lot lately.

 

_Woodwind, organ, sax, or strings,_

_I know how to tease_

_A melody from anything._

_I’d bring Nero to his knees._

 

“No more puns,” the man was muttering, as Sam slapped the mag cuffs on him. He was struggling, but only so he could keep his hands over his ears. “There’s no such thing as a good pun. That’s why people _groan_.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The charity mentioned does exist, although I took some creative liberties. Visit the link below to see Ironman deliver a prosthetic arm to a child. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3p9XHgGiRsg

The next time Bucky was asked for a musical assist, it was by Pepper. A little birdie told her about Bucky’s musical abilities, and she began planning a benefit concert.

The benefit: 3D printed prosthetics for children. Most families couldn’t afford high quality prosthetics, especially when children grew out of their artificial limbs every few years. Pepper created an organization that united people who owned 3D printers, provided them with the designs for prosthetics, and funded their production. By involving the 3D-printing community, she was able to greatly increase production and publicity. Of course, having the Avengers as her exclusive spokespeople helped.

She made the mistake of letting Tony name the charity, so it was called Limbitless. Bucky agreed to do the concert anyway.

Sam wasn’t a big fan of benefit concerts. There was an open bar, but that just meant he didn’t have to wonder about the sound of one hand clapping anymore. He balanced his champagne flute on Redwing so he could have both hands free. Tony teased him about being the Winter Soldier’s groupie (“Don’t call him that,” said Steve, but Sam was pretty sure he was talking about the Winter Soldier.)

Sam was expecting Bucky to do a serious song (he packed tissues). He should have known better.

 

_Don’t need a street corner or a prescription._

_Don't need a thing but to feed my addiction._

_Don’t need no rehab or meetings at NA._

_I just need a deuce so I can juice another day._

 

_Sucking up Pixy Stix,_

_That’s how the East Coast gets its kicks._

_We got less drugs, we got less guns,_

_But we got all the glucose fun._

 

_In this drug ring-pop, the kingpin's a queen,_

_If you ain't jelly yet, it's 'cause you don't know beans._

_Go score your own; I ain’t a sucker._

_Don't get stuck with the fuzzy end of my sucker._

 

_Sucking up Pixy Stix,_

_That’s how the East Coast gets its kicks._

_We got less drugs, we got less guns,_

_But we got all the glucose fun._

 

_Nose candy’s dope, so don't go talkin' smack._

_Can’t walk past the store without liftin’ a pack._

_Only one kinda' shoot up will cut my life short._

_My last breath will be a snort._

 

Sam ended up needing the tissues anyway, because he overheard someone in the audience ask if Bucky was Hozier and laughed so hard he cried.


End file.
